Every Day Thoughts August
by MissJayne
Summary: A series of oneshots and drabbles about the friendships between our favourite characters.
1. Aug 1

_A/N:_ _For Intro, please see Every Day Thoughts January._

Every Day Thoughts August

_**Aug 1**_

**Friendships aren't built in a day. Kindness, caring, laughter, and memories pile up one by one into a sturdy foundation that your relationships rest on.**

The first time Jennifer Shepard met Ziva David, she had just stepped off a train. The redhead had tried not to look suspicious as she glanced around for her contact, eventually settling on a disturbingly young woman lurking in a recess at the station.

It did not take her long to discover that what her new partner lacked in age, she made up for in experience. Her determination and her stubbornness made Jenny smile. And her desire to practice her English during long, hot summer nights on endless stakeouts was a much-needed source of mirth.

They had known each other for three months when Ziva had saved her life, forming a bond that could never be broken. The young Israeli had rescued her from certain death at the hands of kidnappers who were eager to torture her for as much information as they could. Jenny had been overwhelmed with gratitude as Ziva had arrived, all guns blazing.

Lying in a white hospital bed in Cairo, Jenny had not been surprised that Ziva was not present. The Israeli had her own fires to put out before she could return to the side of the American, but Jenny knew she would return. They had shared too much and become so close.

And when Ziva had walked through the door eight hours later, Jenny had favored her with a smile.


	2. Aug 2

_**Aug 2**_

**A best friend willingly receives and carefully treasures the keys to your heart.**

Tony sighed at the elevator doors began to close. Finally he could have some time alone, even if it was only for the duration of the journey to the outside world.

Gibbs was in a foul mood and no one could figure out why. Not that Tony cared why at this point; he was more concerned with staying out of the bear's way. He half-suspected it had something to do with a redhead, any redhead. It certainly wasn't the case.

The doors were almost closed when someone came barreling through them. Tony's first panicked thought was that Gibbs was joining him, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Probie.

"Gibbs has gone to see Abby," the McGeek offered as way of explanation. "I thought it might be an idea to get him some coffee before he returns."

"Good thinking," Tony grinned, clapping his teammate on the back. He wished he'd thought of it sooner. "What time do you reckon we'll escape tonight?"

"Not before ten," the Probie decided.

Tony nodded, dipping his hand into his pocket and drawing out a key. He pushed it into McGee's hands.

"Erm…" It was clear McGee didn't know what to say.

"Key to my apartment," Tony replied. "Everyone else has one; I don't see why you can't."

The elevator doors opened and Tony left in a flash, not wanting to get into a chick flick moment. He glanced over his shoulder after a few seconds to see McGee with a big smile on his face.


	3. Aug 3

_**Aug 3**_

**Success and good fortune mean so much more when shared with friends.**

Abby bounced up and down as she waited for the elevator to reach its destination. It was taking too long! Perhaps it had broken down and she was going to be trapped in here forever…

The doors opened with a reassuring ping and she bounced into the squad room. Where they here? They could be on a case in the field! She hadn't thought of that.

But they were sitting at their desks, just as she had hoped. She raced over to them and dropped the box she had been carrying on Gibbs' desk. "Presents!" she called.

_El jefe_ gave her a look to ask her what she was doing, while Tony, Ziva and McGee darted towards her.

"Presents?" Gibbs asked.

"You didn't hear, boss?" Tony was naturally the one who spoke before she could.

"I won some money on the Lotto," she told him, not letting DiNozzo steal her glory. "And I think it would be selfish to spend it all on myself so I've bought everyone a little present."

Gibbs' eyes twinkled and she grinned back. "So, my silver-haired fox. For you I have…"

She rummaged around in the box, wondering where it had got to.

"A new cell phone! I've programmed in all our numbers and put some photos on there and I'm going to show you how to use it properly –"

"Which one's mine, Abs?" Tony demanded.

She elbowed him as Ziva delivered the requisite headslap. "Wait your turn, DiNozzo," she ordered.

Gibbs smiled at her. "Thanks."


	4. Aug 4

_**Aug 4**_

**Thank you, thank you, my own sweet little friend. We will not be parted. – Jane Austin, **_**Emma**_

Ziva groaned in the darkness. "This is all your fault," she hissed at Tony.

"How is it my fault?" he replied.

"You came up with this ridiculous idea," she reminded him.

"I was relying on you to tell me I was an idiot and we shouldn't try it," he lied.

If she could have seen his face in the darkness, she would have glared at him. As it was, she was already debating ways to kill him slowly and painfully. It was a pity she did not have a paperclip on her.

This was most definitely his fault. He had been the one to suggest going over to see Abby on a Saturday night, he had been the one to use his spare key to enter her apartment and find it empty, he had been the one who had started to pry around.

And then he had wondered aloud whether two people could fit into Abby's coffin or not. He had wondered how comfortable it could be in there. And so she had climbed in without a second thought.

It was surprisingly comfortable and warm. She had been shifting around to see her range of movement when Tony had practically jumped on top of her. His claim of wanting to see whether the Probie could fit inside as well had gone down badly with her. And then to top it all off, he had shifted the coffin in such a manner that the lid had fallen on top.

In the darkness, it had not taken them long to discover that the lid had latched itself shut and they could not get out. Just to make things better, they had both left their cell phones on the kitchen table.

"What's this?" Tony wondered.

"My knee," she warned him.

"No, under your knee." He continued to poke around.

"You are not going to live for much longer," she threatened.

"Hang on." There was some more rummaging and then nothing.

"Tony," she growled.

"I think… I think it's a pair of boxers."


	5. Aug 5

_**Aug 5**_

**Don't wait for special invitations – that's all nonsense among friends. Just come when ever you can, and come as often as you can – the oftener the better. – Mark Twain, **_**The Gilded Age**_

Jenny groaned as someone continued to bang on her front door. She wasn't in the mood to deal with this. It was almost midnight, she had a very small pile of paperwork to finish and then she could crawl into bed and repeat the whole day tomorrow.

Sighing as the knocking continued, she rose from her chair and headed towards the door. Careful to pick up her gun before she reached her destination, she pulled the door open slightly and glared at the person who was disturbing her work.

Jethro.

She should have guessed.

"Go home," she ordered.

She wasn't surprised when he ignored her and made his way into her house.

"It's midnight," she warned.

"You should be in bed," he told her.

She shut the front door, leant back on it and glared at him. It wasn't her best glare; she was too tired for that.

He waved the bottle in his hand to get her attention. "Nightcap?"

She smiled at the sight of bourbon. "I have work to do…" But the protest sounded feeble even to her ears.

Yet again he ignored her, making his way into her study and hunting for the glasses.

"Okay," she acquiesced, pushing off the door and following him. "Nightcap. But I need to finish that paperwork tomorrow so don't annoy any sister agencies."

He gave her his most innocent look; it made her giggle. She decided she really needed the sleep.

She took her glass from his hands and swallowed the small mouthful. "I've really got to give you a key," she muttered under her breath.

And groaned when he pulled a key out of his pocket.


	6. Aug 6

_**Aug 6**_

**Life is to be fortified by many friendships. To love and be loved, is the greatest happiness of existence. – Sydney Smith**

Tim smiled as he looked over at Ziva again. This was his idea – a trip to a sandy beach. He felt they needed some down time after their latest case.

In the end, it had only been the two of them. Abby had apologized and told him she was off to a spa for the weekend, while Tony had pointed out that a James Bond marathon was showing over the weekend and he wasn't going to miss it for the world.

Although Tim had privately felt that if they caught a case, Tony would rather miss Bond than incur Gibbs' wrath.

But it was still fun to be on a beach in the middle of nowhere. The sea was the perfect temperature for a little dip and they had been splashing around all morning. It was nice to see Ziva with her defenses down.

And then he had decided to teach her how to build sandcastles. She had got the hang of it rather quickly and he had left her to her own devices, aware they both needed some time to themselves.

"McGee!" she called.

He looked at his own sandcastle again. It was fairly small but he was proud of it. It wouldn't last long against the waves though.

And then he turned around and saw hers.

It was about two feet high and heavily fortified. He wondered whether to tell her that the castles were not meant to be functional, before he decided she might kill him.

Instead, he smiled. "Wow," he grinned. "Just… wow."


	7. Aug 7

_**Aug 7 – Jess' birthday**_

**Good friends are like windows – they let in the light and keep out the rain.**

"Seriously Jen, when was the last time you cleaned this place?"

Gibbs did not bother to turn around. He knew she was glaring at the back of his head. It was amusing to wind her up at times, but sometimes he knew he needed to remember that she knew where the bodies were buried.

"Noemi cleaned it this morning," she reminded him. "There's a difference between _clean_ and _tidy_."

He snorted. His idea of tidiness involved leaving the dirty washing on the floor in the bathroom rather than the bedroom. Unfortunately he knew from experience that her idea involved having everything in its 'right place'.

"And," she continued. "My study is not tidy."

This time he turned around and rolled his eyes at her. "I don't know where everything goes."

"Hey!" she protested. "I didn't invite you over to tidy – you invited yourself over on a Sunday morning and now you're complaining about interrupting me."

"I am not tidying," he warned. "Last time you ended up rearranging everything again."

"Only because you messed up my order."

"What order?!"

It was her turn to roll her eyes at him. "Find something else to do."

He looked around, his eyes lingering on the bourbon until he remembered it was 1100. She would kill him. Instead, his eyes began their journey again, resting on her windows. "They're filthy," he noted.

She followed his gaze to the windows. "No, they're not."

"How can any sunlight get through them?" he continued. "No wonder you work into the small hours; you can't tell when the sun has set."

"So clean them, dear Liza," she teased. "You know where everything is."

As he set to work, he smiled softly to himself. At least if she was tidying she wasn't working. And he planned to keep her company for today. She needed a break from the Navy Yard and it was his job to make sure she took it.


	8. Aug 8

_**Aug 8**_

**Unconditional love is the most noble gift one human can bestow on another.**

Palmer had admired Abby from the moment he had met her. Admired, not fallen in love with. He thought of Abby as an older sister; someone who cared for him and showed him the ways of the world, but couldn't resist embarrassing him at times.

He had first noticed her love for everyone. And he meant everyone. She adored everyone who crossed her path, from the night janitor to Agent Gibbs. She was always ready with a smile and a bone-crushing hug to make the day better. She was always willing to cheer everyone up.

But it was definitely her unconditional love that shone through the most. She didn't mind what anyone had done in a past life. She didn't care about any petty disagreements. She focused on loving everyone in their own way, on forgiving anything they did.

Whenever Palmer felt he had made a mistake, he always found himself in Abby's lab. She would take one look at him before drawing him into a hug to rival his mother's and reminding him that although he didn't love himself in that moment, there was still someone who cared.

He couldn't imagine anyone else like Abby. She was a unique individual with her own views of the world and everyone in it. And he was proud to call her his friend.


	9. Aug 9

_**Aug 9**_

**Friendship hath the skill and observation of the best physician, the diligence and vigilance of the best nurse, and the tenderness and patience of the best mother. – Edward Clarendon**

"_Zee-vah_," Tony whined. He cracked open his eyes to try to find her.

"What?" she growled.

"Why are you here?" he rasped.

"Because you have the flu," she reminded him. "And Gibbs did not want you to be left on your own. Apparently you are at risk of complications after your bout of pneumonic plague and you refused to go to the hospital."

He shook his head softly. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, however much his partner insisted he should sleep in his own bed. "Hospitals smell of death," he informed her.

He could almost hear her eyes rolling. "Be that as it may, Ducky said you should not be left alone and Gibbs turned that into an order. McGee is coming by tomorrow morning to relieve me and Ducky is due a few hours later to check you out."

"Check up on me," he groaned. "If he was coming to check me out, I would be very concerned."

A few curses left her mouth, all in languages he did not know. "Do you want some more chicken soup?" she offered.

"Yeah," he decided. "_Zee-vah_?"

"Yes?" she growled again.

"Why are you here? Why you?"

"Because you need to be looked after, Tony," she told him. "And because I am the only one, short of Gibbs, who is able to keep you on your couch and not attempting to walk out the door and go to work."

"I'm not ill!" he protested, ignoring the coughing fit that came afterwards.

She snorted.

"Although, if I am ill… Perhaps you could turn the television on. There's a Magnum marathon on this weekend."


	10. Aug 10

_**Aug 10**_

**His gain is loss; for he that wrongs his friend  
****Wrongs himself more. – Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Sea Dreams"**

Ducky sighed as he re-entered Autopsy. Sometimes he preferred not to make trips to the squad room.

"Hello Doctor," Mr. Palmer greeted him. "Was Agent Gibbs happy with the autopsy report on PFC Stone?"

"Oh yes." Ducky found himself jolted back to reality. "There was nothing wrong with it. I just overheard something, that's all."

"Anything interesting?"

Ducky frowned. Mr. Palmer seemed to enjoy any gossip he was given. He was going to have to remind him to stay away from Anthony again. "It relates to our PFC," he answered.

He looked around the room, glad it was empty for once. Only PFC Stone lay in one of the drawers. It was a rare luxury to have so few bodies. Perhaps he had time to tell Mr. Palmer what he had learned.

"We established our PFC was stabbed once in the heart," Ducky continued. "But we had no motive."

"You know what the motive was?" Mr. Palmer came closer and looked interested.

"It seems that Stone was having an affair," Ducky told him. "With his best friend's wife."

"Ouch."

"Quite," Ducky concurred. "Such a betrayal of friendship." He shook his head. "A foolish man."

"How could anyone do that?" his assistant wondered aloud. "I'm not surprised he ended up dead."

"At the hand of the best friend too," Ducky added. "Such a waste."

He glanced up at his assistant to find him looked a little too delighted at the gossip. Time to change topic.

"I haven't had those drawers completely free in a decade," he recalled. "Let's see if we can have PFC Stone released to his family before our next guest arrives."


	11. Aug 11

_**Aug 11**_

**Reprove your friends in secret, praise them openly. – Publilius Syrus**

Tim turned around and looked at the doorway behind him.

"What are you doing?" Abby demanded. "We'll hear the elevator before anyone arrives."

"I'm not worried about 'anyone'," Tim hissed. "I really don't want to get caught gossiping about Tony."

"Who cares? Ziva will pull up a chair and join in, Gibbs will glare at us, Ducky will get straight to business and Tony will… Ah."

"Exactly," Tim replied. "Tony will kill us."

Abby shrugged her shoulders. "Back on topic," she decided. "The blonde witness. You said Tony was drooling over her."

Tim gave the doorway one final glance before turning back to the Goth. Abby was right – they would hear Tony coming. "Drooling so much that he missed the suspect running out of the house."

Abby giggled. "What happened?"

"Ziva spotted the suspect, yelled for help and chased after him. Three blocks."

The Goth's eyes widened. "Who caught him?"

"Gibbs tackled him to the floor," Tim recalled, seeing the struggle on the sidewalk in his mind again. "And Ziva's foot collided with the suspect's groin."

Abby snorted; Tim winced.

"And then we dragged the suspect back here," he finished.

"What did Gibbs do to Tony?" Abby inquired.

The ding of the elevator interrupted them. Tony walked through the door, smelling suspiciously like a sewer.

"Evidence," he announced. "Had to go through the guy's septic tank to find it."

"Poor Tony," Abby cooed as Tim slipped out of the lab. "I've got a change of clothes for you somewhere."

Tim smiled to himself. At least Tony hadn't caught them.


	12. Aug 12

_**Aug 12**_

**Encouragement from a friend after trouble is as welcome as sunshine after a storm.**

"Gibbs!" Abby squealed as she saw him enter her lab. Tony was right – _el jefe _seemed more impatient than usual.

"Anything?" he practically growled.

She turned off her monitors before glaring at him, hands on her hips.

He glared right back.

"Okay, so I know your whole case against your suspect fell apart after it turned out he had an airtight alibi," she began. "And I shall not tell you how I know about that –"

The glare intensified, if it were possible.

"Okay, Tony was in here five minutes ago to warn me that now would be a very good time to have a breakthrough in the case, but I can't conjure evidence out of nowhere, and I know you're a bit annoyed that the guy with the best motive in the world turns out to have the best alibi in the world, but right now you need to calm down because otherwise you're going to miss something and then you'll miss the real killer and it won't matter how much evidence Ducky and I can produce then because he'll have boarded a plane and left the country or whatever bad guys do when they think they might be caught –"

"Breathe," he interrupted her. She obeyed, taking a few big gulps of air. "Going for coffee," he told her as he left her lab.

"How much time do I have?" she called after him.

"An hour to find me new evidence," he warned, out of sight.

She grinned, picking up Bert and squeezing him tight. "Tony owes me a hundred bucks for calming him down," she giggled.


	13. Aug 13

_**Aug 13**_

**You, that have been the greatest comfort to me in the world! – Heaven knows what I should have done without your friendship. – Jane Austin, **_**Sense and Sensibility**_

Palmer smiled after Ducky as his mentor headed towards the elevator. They had been having a busy day and he was grateful for the Scotsman's insistence at taking the new evidence to Abby.

It was odd, he mused, that he should feel so comfortable down here. Most people came into Autopsy only when they had to. He could understand the reluctance of family members to walk in, but new NCIS agents often froze outside the doors.

He supposed his comfort was in part due to Doctor Mallard. His mentor made such a cold place feel warm. He made everyone feel welcome, including their 'guests'. He always knew just what to say to make a situation better.

And he was a good friend as well. A friend to everyone. He listened to anything he was told and refused to judge people. He would be there for anyone who asked. He was patient and trustworthy.

Palmer knew he would never have flourished so well under a different medical examiner. Doctor Mallard guided him with such ease. He knew when to praise and when to criticize. He knew when encouraging words were needed and when everything was going well. He felt every success and shared every mistake.

He was still smiling when his mentor returned. It earned him a slightly odd look, but that only made him smile wider.


	14. Aug 14

_**Aug 14**_

**A good thing that's even better done with a friend: making fun of celebrities while watching awards shows.**

"What?!" Tony exclaimed, spitting his mouthful of beer across the room. "He's wearing what?"

Beside him, Ziva giggled. "That is the most hideous suit I have ever seen in my life."

Abby punched her arm in response. "Hey! I picked it out for him!"

"Did you pick it out in the dark?" Tony snorted, glad he was sitting on the other end of the couch. Abby would have to get through Ziva to get to him.

This time, Ziva punched him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

The Israeli glared at him. "I thought we were supposed to be making fun of McGee, yes?"

Tony nodded, aware he had already explained the whole thing five times and would probably have to go through it another five. "McGee is at this silly awards evening," he recounted.

"Golden Globes," Abby added.

"I thought that had something to do with television," Ziva piped up, confused again. "McGee wrote a book."

"Yes, but he has another book coming out soon and his publisher wants to increase his profile," Tony informed her.

Ziva shook her head. "So we are sitting in front of the television to make fun of McGee?"

"Yes," Tony smiled. She had the hang of it…

"Why?"

Or perhaps not. "Because it's fun," he insisted. "Abby, nachos."

The Goth handed them over. "We should do this more often," she decided.

"And how likely is it that McGee will attend another one of these?" Ziva questioned.

"The Oscars are next month," Tony recalled. "And he needs to keep a high profile for a while so I guess he'll be going to those."

"So are the Oscars for books? I thought they were for movies." Ziva was confused again.

"Never mind," Tony hissed. "There's McGee again. Is he on his own? Couldn't he find a date for one night?"


	15. Aug 15

_**Aug 15**_

**What can I do for my friends? – L. Frank Baum, **_**The Wizard of Oz**_

Jenny rubbed her forehead and opened the top drawer of her desk. Keeping the phone pressed to her ear, she began to hunt for the Advil. They had to be somewhere in here; she'd only bought them this morning.

She stifled a groan as the Director of the FBI continued to stonewall her. She was getting nowhere fast. And she needed the information.

Well, in a way she needed the information. Gibbs had been like a bear with a sore head all morning, complaining that the FBI was refusing to hand over pertinent information relating to his current case – using slightly different words. She hadn't heard this directly from the man himself, but from Tony who had decided to hide in her office.

It hadn't taken long to pry from him why he was sitting in her chair. And after kicking him out, she had decided to do his job for him. The man certainly wasn't patient enough to try a diplomatic route.

"I understand –" The Director of the FBI cut her off again and tried to argue that she didn't need to see the information.

The Advil continued to elude her. Making sure she kept her swear words in her head, she checked the next drawer. And the next.

Finally.

"I'm not sure you do understand," she cut across the Director as she dry-swallowed a pill. "If I do not receive a copy of the casefile in the next hour, I will have to get a court order. And if the press finds out that the FBI is not sharing the relevant information…"

She let her threat hang.

"Thank you," she replied. She smirked as he hung up without reply. Typical.

She rose from her seat and decided to track down DiNozzo. Perhaps it would be better if he handed over the file.


	16. Aug 16

_**Aug 16**_

**Like wooden planks that make up a bridge, many acts of friendship go into a strong relationship.**

Gibbs groaned as he continued to struggle with his current job. Sometimes he wondered why he didn't use power tools on his boat. This might be boat number five, but he still hadn't got the hang of this part.

After this, it was plain sailing all the way. Well, there were still some niggling parts up ahead, but it was a lot easier. The sanding alone was something anyone could do.

If only he could get this done…

A soft giggling from the stairs made him send a quick glare in her direction. Of course she would find it amusing to watch him struggle.

"If you can't help, be quiet," he ordered.

Jenny's giggles rose in volume. "You were the one who ordered me to stay out of the way," she pointed out. "It's not my fault if you need another pair of hands."

"Done this before with no help," he reminded her, continuing to struggle.

"It's not going to kill you to ask for some of that help," she smiled softly.

He glared at her again before continuing in his efforts. And then he paused. "Jen."

"Yes?"

She wasn't going to make his easy then. "Get over here."

He listened as her heels crossed his basement.

"Hold that…"


	17. Aug 17

_**Aug 17**_

**The beloved friend does not fill one part of the soul, but, penetrating the whole, becomes connected with all feeling. – William Ellery Channing**

Abby smirked at the crash. Again. Didn't he learn?

"Abby!" came the strangled cry.

"What?" she answered as innocently as she could.

McGee appeared in her kitchen. "You really need to repair the light in your bedroom," he warned her, trying to reach over her and snag the chips.

She slapped his hand away, grinning at his yelp. "Why? Are you afraid of the dark? You're a manly federal agent with a gun. You have nothing to fear."

"I am not afraid of the dark," he stated firmly. "What I am afraid of is constantly walking into your coffin whenever I go through your room to use the bathroom."

"It's in the middle of the room," she pointed out. "All you need to do is skirt the walls to miss it."

"And then I walk into other things," he reminded her. "Why haven't you replaced the light anyway?"

"I like the dark," she told him, picking up the nachos and nodding her head towards the chips. He got the hint and followed her to the couch with the rest of her goodies.

"So the reason I have a big bruise on my legs is that you like the dark?" he protested. "Couldn't you just leave the light off instead?"

"It's not the same," she argued.

He rolled his eyes. "Where do you keep the spare bulbs?" he demanded.

"Under the sink. But hurry or you'll miss the movie!"

She grinned again as she heard him mutter that he didn't mind missing the start as long as he could walk at the end of it. Her grin grew wider as she heard him crash into her coffin again.


	18. Aug 18

_**Aug 18**_

**I never mind going through anything, where a friend is concerned. – Jane Austin, **_**Northanger Abbey**_

Tony strolled into the squad room, late on purpose. There was no reason to rush – they were looking at cold cases while Gibbs was at a conference in Paris. And the cold cases were colder than cold. Icy was the best term he could think of.

Seeing that the Probie was either later than him or hiding in Abby's lab for the fourth day in a row, Tony smirked as he greeted Ziva. "_Boker tov_," he grinned.

"_Boker tov_," she replied without thinking, before her mind caught up with her mouth. He had already sat down in Gibbs' chair and was busy starting his computer. "Tony?"

"Yes?" he drawled.

"What did you say?"

"Good morning," he replied.

She stared at him in a way he was beginning to learn ended in him spilling all his secrets. "You said it in Hebrew," she pointed out.

"So?"

"You do not speak Hebrew," she reminded him.

"I might speak a little bit," he admitted.

"_Ma nishma_?" she questioned.

"_Tov, toda. V'ata_?" he replied.

"How long have you been learning Hebrew?" she replied instead. It was obvious how she was this morning; she did not need to stick to her own tongue.

"Why would I learn Hebrew?" he answered.

She picked up a paperclip.

He gulped. "A few months," he told her. "Evening class at the local college."

She nodded slowly and settled back into her work.

"Officer David?" he called when he was fairly sure she wouldn't go for a paperclip.

"_Ken_?"

"My professor is a little concerned about my extensive knowledge of Hebrew swear words."


	19. Aug 19

_**Aug 19**_

**I could have no nobler friend. – George Eliot, **_**The Spanish Gypsy**_

Jenny knew she was up the proverbial creek when her office door crashed open and someone stormed in. "I'll call you back," she muttered to the person on the phone, no longer worried about them. She was more concerned that he would notice her presence before she hung up.

It appeared she was in luck. In one sense. However she still had an irate Jethro on her hands.

And the whole Navy Yard had heard the story. Agent Gibbs had been forced to shoot a teenage boy to prevent him from taking out half his team. Now he had taking out his guilt on everyone in the form of anger.

If it had been anyone else, Jenny would have found herself reminding them that they had saved their team, that they had made the right decision. But she knew Jethro and she knew the guilt he was feeling. She knew he still believed there had to have been another way to stop the situation that didn't end with the death of the boy.

When he stopped in front of her and gave her a glare that would have killed a lesser person and could certainly remove the paint from her walls, she gestured towards the couch. His glare intensified.

"That's an order," she warned.

Rolling his eyes at her, he sank into a chair instead. She waited until he had taken several deep breaths before she decided to speak again.

"There was nothing you could have done," she told him.

He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.

"I know you, Jethro. And I know you would not have shot that boy unless you had no other option available. There was nothing you could have done."

Although he said nothing, she could see him calming down. It was good to know he still trusted her judgment.

"Whatever you might think, Jethro, I still consider you a noble man."

"A nobleman?" He looked confused. "I'm not some English Lord."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "A noble man," she repeated. "Get a dictionary."

He smirked. "You think I have _fine _qualities, Director?"

"Go home," she ordered before he could change the topic too much. "Work on your boat, take a break from work, drink yourself into a stupor. I don't mind what you do as long as you take today off and remind yourself –"

"There was nothing I could have done," he droned, finishing her sentence for her. "You've made your point."

"Good." She reached for her phone. "Why are you still here?"

She smiled as he made his way out of his office. She knew it would take him a lot longer to accept it properly, but it was a good start.


	20. Aug 20

_**Aug 20**_

**The strongest friendships have experienced the joys of genuine forgiveness.**

"Hey Ducky."

Ducky looked up in surprise. Normally it was Jethro who appeared in Autopsy without a sound, but today it was Abigail. He tried to work out what she could be down here for. It wasn't the autopsy report – Timothy had been given that. Mr. Palmer was supposed to have delivered all the evidence from their latest guest. And he was not awaiting any results from her.

Another look at her made him pause. She looked upset. Without saying a word, he rose and drew her into a hug. If her hugs cheered others up, she deserved some of her own medicine.

"I'm sorry, Ducky," she whispered into his shoulder.

He drew her back, confused. "What on earth are you sorry about, my dear?" he asked softly. He hadn't a clue what she was on about.

She looked at him, confusion in her own eyes. "I screwed up the identification of the substance found on Petty Officer Raymond's right hand," she reminded him. "And I made a puzzle into an enigma."

"That was not your fault," he informed her, his memory returning. It had not hindered the investigation, merely lost them some time and required some serious thinking to figure out. It had been caused by an unfortunate sequence of events, leaving no one at fault in the end.

Clearly Abigail felt differently.

"I should have realized sooner," she told him, her bottom lip wavering.

"And I am sure if this ever happens again, you will have learnt from your experience this time around," he reassured her. "It's what life is about – learning from our experiences."

"So you forgive me?" she asked, looking like a little girl.

Ducky nodded. "There is nothing to forgive, my dear," he promised her. "And if there was, I would forgive you in a heartbeat."

Her smile warmed his heart.


	21. Aug 21

_**Aug 21**_

**You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the friendship between us, which is too true and too sacred to be so easily broken! – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

Tony continued to tap the pens in his hands on the desk, ignoring Ziva's glares. He didn't think she would really kill him over his drum solo. And anyway, he was just passing the time.

He really needed to talk to the Probie. Alone. And with Gibbs in court this morning, he was in with his best chance. Ziva was due to disappear in search of a Berry Mango Madness in the next few minutes.

However, none of this was any good without the Probie being around.

Tony had been missing him at every stage of the day. When he had arrived, McGeek's jacket had been sitting on the back of his chair, his computer was powered up and his coffee was sitting on his desk. After a run down to Abby, the coffee had vanished and the jacket removed. After Tony had been on his own coffee run an hour later, he had returned to the remains of the Probie's smelly lunch in a bin.

Finally, just as Tony had been about to climb onto his desk and scream for McGee, his missing teammate had reappeared.

"McGoo!" Tony hissed.

McGee looked around in confusion.

"Probie!" Tony tried.

McGee's gaze rested on him. "Hey, Tony."

"Where have you been all morning?" Tony demanded.

"Helping Ducky," McGee replied. "His computer needed an update."

"Doesn't matter." Tony dismissed his prying with a shake of his head. "Need to apologize about the whole thing yesterday."

"You mean after you split scalding coffee all over me?" the Probie checked.

"Yes," Tony whispered, anxious for no one to overhear him. It wasn't every day that he apologized and definitely not to the Probie. "I was out of line – I'm sorry."

McGee looked suspicious before he began to smile. "Thanks, Tony."

Tony smiled to himself as McGoo left the squad room. Now he needed to apologize to Palmer for supergluing his hands to another scalpel.


	22. Aug 22

_**Aug 22**_

**Friendship is one of the world's natural wonders. You can't force it or make it work. It has a life and a heart of its own.**

Sitting in his car, Gibbs couldn't think of a better place to be.

It was the end of a long, hard week and a long, hard case. He always became more focused on cases involving a dead child and this had been no exception. Just to make things better, the humidity had been rising all week, giving him an almost constant headache.

The argument with Jenny hadn't helped either. In her defense, the SecNav had been on her back for a speedy resolution and the FBI had been trying to muscle in, leading her to perform her usual tightrope walking skills to keep everyone happy. But at the time, totally focused on bringing a little girl's killer to justice, he hadn't been thinking in terms of politics.

Which was why he had quirked an eyebrow when she had appeared in the squad room an hour ago and mentioned the coming storm. He had finished his paperwork in record time, ordered his team to stay until they finished theirs and practically ran out of the Navy Yard. He loved watching storms. He found them calming. And he loved watching storms with Jenny.

He couldn't resist a smirk as Jenny almost leapt into his arms at the crash of thunder. His tough-as-nails ex-partner, still capable of making grown men wilt in front of her, was absolutely terrified of thunder.

And oddly enough, she loved lightning. She had always punched him whenever he pointed out the paradox and he suspected tonight would be no different. Watching storms together had become an amusing pastime.

The tension between them slowly dissipated as the storm receded. They continued to sit in the car, content to be close for now.


	23. Aug 23

_**Aug 23**_

**A friend knows what to write on a sympathy card.**

Tim stared at the blank card in front of him. He was a best-selling author but he couldn't summon up the words to put on a sympathy card!

He had resolved to give Ducky a card after noticing how down he had been for the last week. The doctor had seemed tired, run down and almost on a different planet. A few quiet inquires had led to the knowledge of Tyson's death, one of Ducky's beloved corgis.

Tim had immediately decided to offer Ducky his sympathies, but his friend had left early to take care of his mother. Thus he had decided a nice card would be better. It hadn't taken long to decide on the card – Abby occasionally handmade batches and gave him a few, and he had simply picked out the most appropriate.

But he needed to write something in it. _Sorry for your loss_ sounded a bit too somber, while _My thoughts are with you at this time_ was too cliché. If he couldn't come up with something soon, he was going to have to make an exploratory mission to the nearest card shop to read all the passages in their cards.

Yet he didn't want to go through the motions. He wanted to show Ducky how much he cared about him. Ducky was not simply a friend, he was a confidant. He knew exactly what to say to everyone else to help them, and Tim wanted to pay him back for all the times Ducky had been there for him.

He stared at the card again.

And it came to him.

He scrawled it down quickly and reread it.

_I am here if you need me._

He smiled and reached for the envelope.


	24. Aug 24

_**Aug 24**_

**Above our life we love a steadfast friend. – Christopher Marlowe, **_**Hero and Leander**_

Ziva David had spent many a night thinking about death. It was unavoidable in her line of work. She could die any day of the week.

When she had worked directly for Mossad, she had dwelt on the topic a lot. More often than not, it was as she waited to begin a mission. Would she survive this one? Would she die? Be captured?

She had decided that she preferred death over capture. Capture would lead to torture which would lead to eventual death. It was much less painful to die than to be caught.

But her death would be for her country. For Israel. For her fellow countrymen. It would never have been for one person in particular, or a group of people. Unless she counted her father, but that would not have been out of love. He expected her to do her job and she would do it, even if it meant dying in the process.

Yet in America, everything had changed. She had originally become a liaison officer to take something of a break from her father, but she had found a family. In Gibbs, a father. In Jenny, a mother. In Tony, McGee and Abby, siblings. In Ducky, one of those eccentric grandfathers she heard about.

Now, giving her life was not about protecting her country, although she would still lay down her life if necessary. She was now prepared to die for her new-found family. She would rather die than watch one of them die. In a way, it was selfish and selfless at the same time.

Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as she waited for the order to raid the warehouse. She hoped her views on death would not be tested today, but she was prepared if they were.


	25. Aug 25

_**Aug 25**_

**We want but two or three friends, but these we cannot do without, and they serve us in every thought we think. – Ralph Waldo Emerson**

Tim stood by his car, kicking a tire again for good measure. He had only had it serviced the week before – how could it break down so quickly?

He was in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization. To his astonishment, there was a cell tower nearby so at least he had been able to call for help. Knowing his luck, he had expected to be stuck on this country road for days before anyone else passed.

His first call had been to Ziva. He was not letting Tony see him like this and although she drove at the speed of light, it simply meant he would be able to get out of here quicker. And despite his distrust of her driving skills, he trusted her with everything else. If he told her a secret, she would keep it. If he had a problem, she would do the best she could to fix it.

His second call had been to Abby. He would have called her first, but he wanted to reassure her that help was on the way and she didn't have to worry about him. After she had taken several very deep breaths, they had ended up having a long discussion about anything and everything. He had been pleased to hear her voice and it had made the time fly by.

His third and final call had been to Ducky. The Scot had offered to head over to the garage and get a head start in complaining. Tim had gladly agreed – Ducky could be terrifying when he wanted to be.

Kicking another tire again for good measure, he heard the arriving car long before he saw it. The brakes squealed as Ziva slammed them to come to a stop right in front of him.

"Do you need a lift?" she inquired redundantly.

Tim smiled thankfully at her. "Please."


	26. Aug 26

_**Aug 26**_

**A faithful friend is the true image of the Deity. – Napoleon Bonaparte**

"Abby!"

"No."

"Please, Abs!"

"No."

"I'll do anything."

Abby quirked an eyebrow. "Really?" she drawled.

The source of her irritation continued to pout. "Come on, Abs. I'll owe you one."

The Goth picked up the nearest vial and waved it in Tony's face. "How do you know that I can't kill you with this?" she demanded.

Tony gulped. "I thought you and Ziva made a pact that you would kill me together."

"How did you hear about that?" Abby inquired.

The grin she received from Tony was enough.

"I'm going to get McGee back for telling you."

"It slipped out of the Probie's mouth," Tony admitted. "He needs to learn to keep his big mouth shut."

"I'll shut it with duct tape," Abby warned. "And Ziva and I didn't agree to kill you together – she will kill you and I'm going to get rid of the body."

Tony gulped again. "So you're not going to kill me with the contents of that vial?"

Abby giggled and shook her head. "I could never kill you, Tony."

He sighed in relief.

"But I'm good friends with an assassin who you wind up on a regular basis… Maybe Gibbs' headslaps have given you permanent head trauma. Why else would you constantly ignore all the warnings that she's going to kill you?"

"Abby, stop," Tony demanded. "How did we get so off topic?"

She opened her mouth to tell him but he placed a finger over it.

"Never mind," he decided. "Now, _please _can I come bowling with you?"


	27. Aug 27

_**Aug 27**_

**A rich person has many treasures; a wise person treasures many friendships.**

Driving back from the Navy Yard, his radio on slightly louder than usual, Gibbs tried to focus on the road ahead of him and not on the events of the day.

The day had been... he could only describe it as everything falling together perfectly. Jenny and Ducky had fed his caffeine addiction all day, each seemingly oblivious that the other was supplying coffee. Abby had given him the biggest hug he could ever remember receiving. Tony, McGee and Ziva had put their mini-feuds on hold for the day and produced an astonishing amount of paperwork – so much that they had all been able to go home early.

He couldn't imagine working at NCIS without them. Together, his friends – even though he might glare at them, he still considered them friends – made everything worthwhile. Occasionally he would fight the urge to headslap the lot of them, but he valued their companionship.

He pulled up outside his house, still deep in thought. It took him a few moments to remember to lock his car before he headed towards his house. For a second, he wondered why he bothered to lock his car door but not his house.

Probably because he planned to shoot any intruders.

He had taken two steps into the hallway before he froze. Something was wrong.

Less than a minute later, he was reaching for his cell phone. His house was clear. Literally. Someone had robbed him.


	28. Aug 28

_**Aug 28 – Sophie's birthday**_

**How the world is made for each of us! – Robert Browning, "By the Fire-Side"**

"I really don't like this."

Ducky looked across at his assistant. He was fairly sure the muttering under Mr. Palmer's breath had not been meant for his ears, but it was his job to keep everyone in good spirits.

"And what part of this do you not like?" Ducky found himself asking.

Mr. Palmer almost jumped out of his seat. "I'm sorry, doctor?"

"I thought you would be pleased to attend an international conference of medical examiners," Ducky admitted. "I had to pull a few strings to get you to come along and persuading the Director to lose both of us for a week was a lot easier than I thought, but still. It will be a good opportunity for you to network."

"It's not that, doctor." His young assistant lowered his head. "I'm not fond of airplanes."

Ducky glanced down to see Mr. Palmer clutching the armrests. "Ah."

"I'm okay with the flying bit," his assistant babbled. "But not the takeoff or landing. I keep thinking I'm going to die."

"Did you know," Ducky started, aware it was a spectacularly bad idea to begin voicing his memories of assisting with plane crashes. "That you are more likely to die on the way to the airport than during the flight itself."

"Really?" Mr. Palmer replied.

"Oh yes," Ducky continued. "The person who calculated the odds clearly had a lot of time on their hands –"

"Or worked for an airline company," his faithful assistant muttered.

"But you are very safe up in the air. And we will arrive for the conference with plenty of time to spare."

Ducky kept up his commentary as the plane took off, hiding his soft smile as Mr. Palmer became more absorbed and forgot his fear of planes. He was going to have to do this again for the landing...


	29. Aug 29

_**Aug 29**_

**The friendship between me and you I will not compare to a chain; for that the rains might rust, or the falling tree might break. – William Penn**

"Hello?" Abby called out. Her voice shook slightly, afraid of who might have just stepped off the elevator.

If it was Tony, she would never live this down. If it was Ziva, it would never be spoken of again. If it was McGee, she would have to explain everything before she could escape. Gibbs would threaten to kill whoever had done this to her, Ducky would fuss over her and Palmer would simply freeze in the doorway.

She was holding out for Ziva. The Israeli would understand on some level and would never breathe a word about it to anyone. She was good at keeping secrets.

But it was not Ziva who stepped into the lab.

"Good morning, Abby," Jenny smiled.

The Goth raised her eyebrows as the redhead glanced at her current predicament. Sometimes it was a very bad idea to be caught by her boss. She watched the Director's eyes as they took in the situation.

"Okay, this is not what it looks like," Abby began. At the soft smirk on Jenny's lips, she found herself continuing. "Tony told me they thought Corporal Bowering committed suicide but they weren't sure if he could shoot himself in the head while chained to his office chair, so I thought I'd chain _myself_ to my chair and see what my range of movement was, and it turns out that I have a pretty good range of movement with my hands chained to the arms but I haven't got enough room to get myself free..."

Jenny smiled. "Are the keys to hand or will I need to pick the locks?" she asked.

Abby sighed in relief. "The keys are over there." She nodded her head towards Major Mass Spec. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Jenny reassured her. "And next time, think about the escape plan before you end up trapped."


	30. Aug 30

_**Aug 30**_

**You don't pick your friends so much as they find you. You don't create friendship so much as it unfolds naturally.**

The flower sat on the desk, seemingly oblivious to the two people staring at it. It wasn't exactly every day that Gibbs received presents.

And certainly not in the form of a red rose.

Ziva had known she was running horribly late, but had been pleased not to see Gibbs or Tony as she arrived. Anyway, it was not her fault if her car had somehow caused a slight pile-up on the Beltway. She really would have to remember which pedal was the brake and which was the gas...

She had raced into the squad room to find McGee was the only occupant. And he was not at his desk but staring at the rose on Gibbs' desk. Her curiosity piqued, she had joined him in staring at it.

It was a beautiful rose, just starting to unfold. Her investigative mind had decided that the rose had been grown in someone's garden rather than delivered by a flower shop. Her biggest hint was the lack of a note. It had to be someone close to Gibbs...

"Did you see who left it?" she whispered to McGee, afraid her voice would break the atmosphere.

Next to her, McGee shook his head. "I ran late this morning and it was already on his desk," he answered. "Don't think Gibbs has seen it yet."

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "We should get to work," she decided. "And find a way to get Gibbs up here."

McGee looked a little concerned. "But then he'll see the rose," he pointed out.

Ziva grinned. "And we can see his reaction."


	31. Aug 31

_**Aug 31**_

**Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired. – Homer, **_**Iliad**_

The clocks ticked quietly throughout the night, the only observers left in MTAC. They saw everything, from the hard work of the technicians and agents to illicit liaisons that occasionally took place within their hallowed room.

Tonight was a typical night. These two seemed to spend a lot of hours working in the darkness of MTAC, not all of them working together. Sometimes they would video conference with people from across the world, sometimes they would call people in other time zones on the opposite side of the earth, sometimes they would simply sit and do their paperwork.

But these two were married to their jobs. Whether they were working together or separately, they clearly enjoyed each other's company. There were definite nights when neither of them came in at all. And then there were the nights when only the redhead appeared, muttering about a boat or a case. The clocks heard every word.

And the clocks saw everything. They watched dispassionately as the redhead and the silver-haired man ran a mission in the dead of night. The room was empty – the technicians had left hours ago. But the pair continued to work, continued to relay instructions to whomever they were linked to. They continued to monitor their progress and pass each other the single coffee cup. They continued in their dogged pursuit of their suspect.

The clocks continued to tick as they finally left. Sometimes they had difficulties in telling the pair apart. Sometimes they seemed to be the same person.


End file.
